


Two Weeks

by frerarcl



Series: Obey Me! One Rotting Brain To Rule Them All [2]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: (yet ;3), Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone tries to help, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Angst, No beta we die like lilith, One Shot, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, belphie is rude but the reason is, but this does revolve around mc/belphie, everyone just calls you mc, gonna b real with u lucifer's only there for a minute, he is a very busy demon, he's a baby thats basically the reason, mc's gender is never specified, no one succeeds, nor is their name, not really romance, they just arent romantically involved, u know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frerarcl/pseuds/frerarcl
Summary: For the past two weeks, Belphegor has been acting weirdly cold towards you. You want to know why.
Relationships: Belphegor & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s)
Series: Obey Me! One Rotting Brain To Rule Them All [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732936
Comments: 1
Kudos: 77





	Two Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> hello! just a couple quick notes before we get started:  
> \- this is the longest one-shot i've ever written! yay me :)  
> \- the pov is second person! they/them pronouns for the reader throughout  
> \- reader is referred to as mc! i really prefer writing reader inserts with no references to the reader's name, but i needed to for this one, and i think mc is a little less jarring than y/n personally.  
> \- rated t for language. i cannot write a main character that doesnt curse like a sailor. it's just who i am. i cannot change this.  
> enjoy!!

The last two weeks have been uncomfortable. Living in the House of Lamentation is never dull, but it’s been a long while since it’s been this tense. At least most of the time, the problems are identifiable, as are their solutions: Mammon stole someone’s wallet again, so you need to steal it back or just cuddle up to him enough that he’ll do what you want; Asmo was a little too flirty, so he needs to be reminded of boundaries (and then, preferably, given a little kiss on the cheek so he doesn’t take it too personally); someone tried to pull a prank on Lucifer that almost worked, so they should remember that Lucifer can and will bring them to the precipice of death; and so on. This time, it’s a little more complicated. The problem is that Belphie has been strangely cold and indifferent to you, at times even rude. Further complicating matters is the fact that up until two weeks ago, since the, ahem, incident, Belphie’s been very close to you. He dismisses it under the pretense that he’s just trying to make up for time lost by him being in the attic for a significant duration of your stay in the Devildom, though you suspect it’s probably more likely that his affection is motivated primarily by his own will to show you he regrets the whole killing you thing. The solution to his distance might be easier to find if you could figure out why exactly he’s being so unlike himself, but no one can get anything out of him, and as you discovered recently, everyone has tried, if only because they’re unsettled by how unhappy you’ve been as a result. 

* * *

The first brother that attempted to get to the bottom of this mess was none other than your first man, the Great Mammon. Considering how much of his time he dedicated to being around you while pretending he didn’t want to be around you, the dip in your mood within the first couple of days of Belphie’s standoffishness probably affected him the most. He had tried everything he could think of to cheer you up, from offering to buy you dinner with money he didn’t have to telling every joke he could think of to clinging to you through a marathon of the cheesiest horror movies this side of the Celestial Realm. (Even the most mild of those films made the second-born squirm. It was very endearing, even if you weren’t feeling quite up to snuff.) He cornered his younger brother Wednesday night after dinner as the latter headed to the attic for several more hours of napping on and off.

“What’s the big idea, huh?” Mammon had asked.

“Move. I’m going to bed,” came Belphie’s sneered response.

“Not until you tell me why you’re being such a dick to the human!” Mammon insisted.

“Ugh. I am NOT having this conversation with you. It doesn’t concern you, Mammoron. Now, move,” the younger grunted, shouldering his way past his elder brother. Mammon didn’t even have time to scold him for disrespecting his big bro before Belphie had ascended the stairs. The heavy door at the top of the stone spiral was slammed with more force than was absolutely necessary, which Mammon knew was the equivalent of Belphie telling him that the conversation was permanently over and to fuck off. As much as he DEFINITELY DOES NOT care about you and DEFINITELY DOES NOT want you to be happy more than anything even money, he knows not to push Belphie past his “this is my way of telling you to leave me alone” point.

The next brother to try his hand at helping you was your favorite potential basketball star and twin of the cause of the beginning stages of a possible breakdown, Beelzebub. You had known for some time that you were somewhere close to being one of his favorite people, if only because you were the only person he ever shared food with other than his twin, and food was undeniably Beel’s love language. From the first day of Belphie’s passive-aggressiveness, you could see the gears churning in Beel’s head as to how in the three realms he could mend it. He asked you, the day before Mammon’s failed attempt at confrontation, if you could think of anything that could have caused Belphie to become so distant. You genuinely, for the life of you, could not. The day before he went full asshole on you had been a very normal Saturday spent lounging around with the youngest brother plastered to your side in a weird but not uncomfortable koala grip, catching up on some of the suggestions you had received when you had asked for everyone’s favorite Devildom movies. You had only left the bed in the attic to go to the restroom or grab food, and your companion really hadn’t wanted you to leave even for that. You didn’t think that those little moments of pouting from him had meant that he was genuinely upset, which Beel agreed with. You went to bed in your own room, which had never been a problem in the past, and the next morning, Belphie had gone from wanting to be shoved against you all day previously to glances of contempt the following day. Beel was left as puzzled as you as to where in that situation you may have gone wrong, and sought out his twin to ask for his version of events.

Beel found Belphie in the kitchen, grabbing some leftover Quetzalcoatl brain soup from the fridge.

“Hey,” he started.

“Uh, hi?” Belphie said, freezing with the bowl in his hand.

“Did anything happen with you and MC?” Beel asked. No point in mincing words; he knew Belphie wouldn’t appreciate him stalling.

“First Mammon, now you? Did they put you up to this?” groaned the younger twin. 

“No. I can feel what you feel. Something is wrong. You’re upset and so are they,” Beel shrugged.

“If you can feel what I feel, then you know I don’t feel like talking about it,” sighed Belphie. Beel frowned. He was right. Belphie was closing himself off, even to his twin. That hadn’t happened in years, but Beel knew from experience that trying to break down the wall Belphie had put up wouldn’t be good for either of them. With resignation, he decided it best to leave the situation alone. The best he could hope for would be the two of you working things out together. Somehow, he knew that the likelihood of that happening before one of you blew up or broke down was slim to nothing. This wouldn’t be good.

Next to the plate was an unexpected ally in the fight to make Belphie stop acting like a dick, Leviathan, your favorite otaku shut-in. Levi was in a very similar boat to Mammon - as much as he pretended to not want to spend time with you, especially towards the beginning of your friendship, he spent a lot of time in your company. Maybe it was because he felt like you were the only one who actually cared about any of his interests. Even looking past your commitment to learn about TSL, you had actually started listening to Sucre Frenzy and Zaramela in your free time just so when he went off on a tangent about their talent you could throw in your two cents about their latest singles, and perhaps even more importantly, you had spent a weekend binge-watching every Ruri Hana-related piece of media in existence, ultimately resulting in you being a confirmed Ruri-chan stan. (She’s just so cute! You almost cried over her little hat. Admittedly, though, you made Levi swear on Henry 2.0 that his love for her was not in any way a lolicon type of thing. Frankly, Levi’s disgust at the concept of Ruri-chan lewds was convincing enough, but you had to make sure.) As sweet as your true friend could be, he really struggles at times with recognizing and processing emotions, both from himself and from others. Therefore, it wasn’t until he turned to scold you for almost bombing a dungeon raid and caught you zoning out with uncomfortably shiny eyes that he realized something was up. He mentally smacked himself for not paying more attention to your emotional state, especially because you looked so sad that he could feel the same clench in his chest that he felt the first time he watched the scene in the second TSL movie where the Lord of Shadows sees Henry unconscious and recovering from wounds he had attained in battle. 

“Hey, uh, don’t worry about the loot. We’re both almost totally maxed on all stats anyway, so we can just leave the drops for the noobs,” he tried to soothe, placing a hand on your shoulder with very little grace but a lot of comforting intent. He barely even cared that one of the bosses he brought down solo had dropped some ultra-rare weapons that were for his character class and that a level 20 was picking it up even though he totally could have used it and he would’ve taken it into town and had it enchanted and he had the right amount of magic stones in his inventory to have the alchemist attribute enhance it. Okay, he cared a little bit about that, but his true friend was almost crying and that was more important than the weapons. It didn’t take much for you to spill your problems to him, but it did take him a few days to figure out how he wanted to approach Belphie. The answer came in a text from the current problem brother.

least normie brother (7:52): Hey, can I borrow that manga you told me about?

least normie brother (7:52): The horror one. 

L3V1 (7:53): Yeah, I’m staying home today anyway. Want me to bring it to you?

least normie brother (7:54): That would be good. I’m in Beel’s and my room.

L3V1 (7:54): B) got it

Standing outside of the twins’ room, Levi wondered for a minute if it was really worth any kind of confrontation with Belphie to bring up MC. Then, the thought of those teary eyes hit him again, and shit, it was worth the awkwardness, because every time he thought about how _sad_ they looked it just made Levi feel like garbage again, and he was determined to be brave for his Henry, so he swallowed the fear of tension and knocked on the door. He could hear blankets shifting around inside, followed by the soft pat of his brother’s feet making their way across the floor. The door opened to reveal Belphie, looking as sleepy as ever and a little irritated. He swore he saw a hint of sadness in the youngest’s eyes before he realized that it was Levi holding a thick, hardcover tome in his arms and not another member of the household here to make noise.

“Oh, cool. Thanks for bringing that down,” Belphie said, offering a polite smile.

“Just take good care of it, okay? Don’t let Beel touch it with his chip fingers! MC brought me this after they went to the human world with Satan and Lucifer and Mammon because they talked to me about this guy’s work and he’s, like, legendary up there, and you can’t find anything of his in the Devildom! This is one of his more popular stories, but it’s a collector’s edition so it’s really valuable and if anything happened to it I would kill everyone in this house,” Levi rambled. He noted the smile dropping at the name of their human house guest. 

“Right. I’m going to start reading. See ya,” Belphie deadpanned, moving to close the door. _Shit_ , Levi thought to himself, _I gotta ask about MC don’t shut the door on me don’t do it DON’T DO IT!!_ He caught the door in his hand just before it finished its swing into place, taking himself and his younger brother by surprise.

“By the way… uh… MC has been… kinda… different recently… a-and so have you… is, uh, everything… okay? With you guys?” Levi stumbled, feeling warmth rise to his face. Damn, he was bad at this. He was met with a look of incredulous exhaustion from the demon behind the door and a heaving sigh,

“UGH, you too? Is everyone in this house going to interrogate me on this? If MC is _sooo_ worried about me, they should just ask me themselves and stop sending you idiots to do their dirty work for them!” he groaned, pushing Levi’s hand away from the doorframe and shutting it firmly in his face. Levi heard the lock click into place and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Well, shit. This wouldn’t be good.

Asmodeus and Satan, the ever-plotting duo, decided to try and take Belphie on together. Both of them had seen how unhappy you and Belphegor both were, and had heard from you and each of the other three brothers that had tried to confront the youngest on your behalf about their various shut-downs. Satan had gone detective mode almost immediately after hearing Beel’s report of your description of the day preceding the beginning of this feud. Surely, something else had to have happened! Belphie’s fuse was longer than Satan’s, but not by much. Satan would wager that if being angry didn’t take so much effort, Belphegor might have ended up the Avatar of Wrath in his place. That, Satan theorized, was why your side of the story must’ve been incomplete - it took commitment for Belphie to stay mad at someone who was, up until last week, one of his favorite people, especially for a full six days, and he wouldn’t waste that much emotional energy being upset with you unless he really felt like you had slighted him. Satan brought his hypothesis to Asmo, who, as it turned out, had felt as badly as everyone else about the situation, albeit for slightly different reasons.

“They’re stressing themselves so _much_ over this! They’re going to get _worry lines_ , and even my _best_ eye cream can’t prevent those! Plus, this whole debacle has got them so preoccupied that they didn’t even _react_ when I told them that they were the _closest thing_ to a beauty rival I’ve _ever had_ ! This is _ridiculous_ , Satan! And now _I’m_ stressed and I CANNOT start forming WRINKLES because BELPHEGOR refuses to _COMMUNICATE_ !” Asmo had cried in genuine distress. After knowing Asmo his entire life, Satan couldn’t remember a time Asmo had been this upset over someone else not getting along with another someone else - that is to say, not with Asmo himself, which had driven the fifth-born to near madness in the past. Not that he would ever say so to Asmo, but Satan suspected the main stressor for his attention-hungry brother was the lack thereof received from MC after several months of their guest humoring his beauty experiments and flirtations. Either way, Satan had to agree: this was, in fact, ridiculous. You were the closest thing to an angel any of the brothers could really tolerate without being reminded of their pre-demon lives, Satan himself notwithstanding, but your generally pacifistic nature meant that the concept of you directly confronting Belphie seemed to do little more than make your anxiety over his mistreatment skyrocket. Which, unfortunately for Satan, meant he was going to have to resolve this once and for all, with a little help from Asmo. … Okay, so maybe the concept of you seeing him as a confident, strong king of the land of conflict resolution appealed to him _a little bit_. He doubted anyone could blame him. 

The 45 chat became a war room in no time at all. The strategy boiled down to Asmo charming Belphie into a peaceful, pliant state, and then Satan leading interrogation until the two of them figured out exactly what had gone wrong. It briefly occured to the elder of the two that maybe this strategy was less the result of his own brilliance, as deep and wide as the breadth of his wisdom may be, and more inspired by the “good cop/bad cop” trope that appeared in so many of the crime dramas he had been introduced to by the only human he bothered to give a shit about. Whatever. _Inspiration comes from any number of places_ , he thought. _My interpretation is going to be executed much better anyway._

The duo decided to strike that Saturday, since the lack of classes the following day would mean rest to recuperate from the questioning that Satan had planned. Plus, it would make one full week since Belphie’s last good day with you. After dinner, which was as tense and unsavory as it had felt since the Incident, as Satan had dubbed it, Asmo used just a sliver of his supernatural enticement to convince Belphegor to join them for a movie night.

“Don’t worry,” Asmo had winked, “It’s just going to be the three of us. I want to hear all the dirt you two have on dear Lucifer that you’ve been keeping to yourselves!” The invitation to shit-talk the first-born would have probably sufficed on its own, but couple it with Belphie not really having to interact with anyone for a couple hours while still being able to say he was ‘bonding with his brothers’ and a sprinkle of Asmo’s unnatural allure meant that he was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fully on board for this. Satan had anticipated this, and felt especially good that so far, all was going as planned. The three settled in Asmo’s temple of luxurious self-care, breaking out a projector borrowed (without permission) from Mammon’s room while the second-born putzed around in the human realm. (He had said that it wasn’t for witch-related purposes. It was definitely for witch-related purposes, but Satan had agreed not to tell Lucifer, if only because the projector would be a key part of their plan.) Satan pretended to fumble through the technical aspects of setting up the device to buy Asmo a little more time to soften up their younger brother. 

“Belphieeee,” cooed Asmo from near his vanity. Belphegor narrowed his eyes in response. “You get so much beauty sleep. Your skin still looks a little dry, though. Let me use some of this moisturizer on you!” Belphie’s hesitation was expected, but his nodded consent was not. The shock must’ve shown on Asmo’s face.

“Normally I’d say no, but I trust you not to intentionally ruin my face more than anyone else, I guess. Besides, isn’t this supposed to be ‘have fun and gossip about the eldest asshole’ night? Maybe this will be relaxing,” Belphie shrugged. _Oh_ , thought Satan, _this is going even better than I had expected, since he’s this on board._ Asmo’s train of thought was running parallel; the fact that none of his brothers really knew about skincare or ingredients therein gave him a little extra freedom to use… less than traditional treatments when they let him near their faces. The cream in his hands was a prime example of this. Ultra-concentrated whipped Celestial Giant Snail essence with jasmine, chrysanthemum, and peppermint oils, all packed into a rich, slightly frothy cream, filled a delicate glass jar, topped with a pink ceramic lid. Asmo gently removed the topper with a light _clink_ , and the combination of scents that radiated from within permeated the air directly around them. Belphie took a deep breath and furrowed his brows.

“What’s in that that smells so… familiar?” he asked slowly.

“I was wondering if you would remember that scent. It’s been so long since any of us were in contact with it. Celestial Giant Snail. If you remember, we used to use their slime as a healing agent. It was a very effective pain killer for injuries, and even for the uninjured, mixing a bit of that same slime into a steam bath was a go-to for insomnia. Dear sweet Simeon remembered my fondness of it and brought me this jar of lotion with a bit of slime essence. Don’t worry, it isn’t like I’m letting them crawl on you. It’s condensed and refined for a more deeply relaxing experience. Apparently its anti-aging effects are second to none as well!” Asmo cheerily informed his brother, dipping a silicone brush into the mix and gently smoothing it across the younger’s face. He wasn’t lying; Simeon had, in fact, brought him this product in a bid to try to help mend a bridge burnt a terribly long time ago. It hadn’t worked, or course. Asmo may have been lust incarnate, but that status didn’t come without its own near-impermeable sense of pride. The part that Asmo chose to leave out was that this was a body cream of a medical sort, only meant to be applied sparingly to especially sore joints or major bruises. The steamed mixture they had used as angels had been about five parts water to one part slime extract, though, and was able to put even the most serious insomniac to rest for several hours at a time. Frankly, the mask-thick layer he applied so gingerly to Belphie’s face would probably be enough to put anyone in a coma for a couple of weeks, but Asmo only planned to leave it on long enough to relax his brother into a state of serenity that would make any avoidance during Satan’s interrogation much more difficult. From Belphie’s mumbled response, he was already halfway to dreamland, which meant it was time to remove the excess. Asmo efficiently removed all residue from Belphie’s face with a soft towel. He considered, momentarily, that perhaps using his little deep-relaxation concoction is a bit… morally gray, but then he remembered that Belphie tried to do an entire genocide and then also a homicide when the first one was foiled, and also that he’s, well, a _demon_ , and a beacon of morality is not something Asmo has ever considered himself, and finally recalled the way MC had been moping about as of late, and frankly, _to hell with it_ , he thought, because the sooner this shit got sorted out, the better. So, the thick cream was cleansed from Belphie’s skin, and underneath all the skincare goo remained an absurdly relaxed demon. Satan recognized that now was the time to strike.

“So, Belphegor, can I ask you something?” Satan asked, feigned innocence lacing his words.

“Uh, yes?” Belphie responded. His face twitched, as if trying to frown, because of all the brothers, Satan was the least likely to beat around the bush about anything, but he seemed so deeply soothed that he really couldn’t force a frown. Satan and Asmo both took that as a good sign.

“You’ve seemed a little upset lately. Did anything happen?” the elder questioned, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Lucifer tried to tell me that I need to actually do my schoolwork a couple days ago and it pissed me off. I’m thousands of years old and I’m still considered the youngest. Why do we even have to GO to a school, you know? We’re rulers of HELL. Just seems a little stupid to me,” Belphie slurred, half-asleep. His eyes were only half-open, but Satan still turned his head to frown so his brother couldn’t see him. 

“You have a point. It seems strange that we’ve been relegated to roles as students when we’re really closer to being high-ranking military officers,” Satan relented. “But, I don’t know, you’ve just been less yourself the past week. At least, it seems so to me. Surely Lucifer telling you to do classwork hasn’t had you riled for more than a couple of days?” 

“Ugh… if I tell you about the other thing, swear you won’t tell the others?” Belphie sighed. Asmo, who had been seated beside Belphie on the bed amongst the many decorative throw pillows there dripping a variety of serums and essences onto his perfectly even skin and listening closely, could tell by Belphegor’s body language that the hesitation he may have normally felt in sharing the information that was sure to follow his entreaty was quelled by the fact that his skeleton undoubtedly felt like grape jelly under his skin. _So far, so good_ , he thought.

“Darling, what words are spoken in this sacred safe rarely leave! What do you take me for, some sort of gossip?” Asmodeus pseudo-protested with a melodramatic hand raised to his head like a fainting dame. 

“Yes,” replied Satan and Belphie simultaneously.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Asmo smiled. “I really wouldn’t have any reason to share your woes with any of our other brothers against your will, anyway. I would assume Satan to feel the same way?” Satan nodded his assent, trying to hide his disappointment. Sure, this was going even better than he had anticipated, but he wasn’t even really able to try out the “bad cop” persona he had most certainly _not_ spent a day and a half practicing in his bathroom mirror.

“I doubt you haven’t heard yet, because Mammon is the loudest idiot in the three realms, but he, Levi, and Beel have all tried to confront me about MC and it’s _so_ annoying. They all did it back-to-back, too. This is the first night since Tuesday someone hasn’t brought MC up to me, and I just want them to leave me alone,” Belphie grunted. Despite the depth of his relaxation, a line formed on his forehead as he furrowed his brows. Asmo, to his credit as a skincare god, immediately reached over to smooth it out with his fingers. 

“Why are they all on you about MC?” Asmo asked, diligently massaging his brother’s forehead in a way that probably should have been more uncomfortable for all involved parties than it was. (Asmo had discovered, very much on accident, how relaxing a forehead massage could be. If it wasn’t his secret weapon for turning anyone who would let him close enough to try it into putty in his hands, he would share the story.)

“MC did something that pissed me off last week. I don’t want to talk about what, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s just between them and myself, but I guess they’re being a coward and asking literally everyone else to try and fix it for them, and everyone’s doing it. They act like they don’t know what they did, but if they would think about it for more than five seconds and consider the situation outside of their own self-pity, they would figure it out,” Belphie spat, disdain becoming thicker throughout his small spiel until the end was close to venomous. He sat upright, his anger and annoyance apparently pushing the relaxation from the cream treatment far enough to the side for his emotions to peek through. He looked to Satan and Asmo, who were exchanging a glance of their own. He sighed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make things tense, but I just ruined my own night by talking about it.” He laughed, though there wasn’t much (if any) humor to be detected therein. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed. Enjoy movie night.” With that, Belphegor gathered his pillow, stretched enough to crack something in his back, and trudged out of Asmo’s room. Satan didn’t miss how, for the second night in a row after Beel’s attempt to talk to him, Belphie turned in the direction of the attic and not the room the twins shared.

“Well, shit,” Satan breathed, looking to Asmo.

“Yeah,” he responded. “Yeah.”

* * *

The following morning was a beautiful Sunday, and you were absolutely fucking miserable. You hadn’t slept well the night before, or any of the week before that. You checked your DDD again, knowing full well that there would be nothing new to see. To be entirely honest, you hadn’t liked Belphegor much at first. The fact that he had lied to you for several months about being a poor lonely little prisoner in the attic without telling you that he was a prisoner for trying to exterminate your entire species had not made you any fonder of him, and then, you know, the whole trying to strangle you to death thing happened, and that _definitely_ wasn’t good. The rancid cherry on top of the shit cake had been that, immediately after successfully murdering you in cold blood (thanks, Barbatos, for making that temporary) and finding out that you were the very distant descendant of his reincarnated sister (which, by the way, everyone was WAY cooler with than they should have been, what the hell), he tried to “oops lol my bad” his way directly into your good graces. The constant attention and frequent texts and calls had been grating the first few days of actually knowing him, but he was also the favorite sibling of Beelzebub, who was the biggest (literally) sweetheart you knew, so at the behest of the Avatar of Gluttony, you gave Belphie a chance.

He had grown on you quicker than you would have liked. You tried to hold a grudge against him. It didn’t work. His sense of humor was so much drier and sarcastic than all the other brothers’, and it reminded you of some of the human comedians and friends you had laughed with extensively in the past. Plus, well, he was so goddamn _cute_ that you couldn’t help it. All he wanted to do, ever, was snuggle up to you with his little cow-print pillow and be held for a while, and you realized your heart wasn’t cold enough to deny him that forever, not when he seemed to be trying so hard to make it up to you. Once you finally let him get close, he stayed there, and was now probably your best friend out of the brothers. Well, _was_ your best friend. You climbed out of bed, slipping into some oversized sweatpants and a t-shirt gracefully donated ( _read: purchased_ ) by Lucifer from the RAD campus store once he realized that only having the uniforms at your disposal probably wouldn’t work too well.

It was earlier in the morning than you would have liked to be up on a Sunday, but given that you had been lying awake for three hours already, you figured you might as well put an end to the rumbling of your stomach. The plan had been to slip down to the kitchen, grab some fruit, and make your way back to your room without being detected. No such luck. Normally, the House of Lamentation met nightly for group dinner, as it was Lucifer’s way of making everyone behave for an hour, but very rarely were any other meals shared as a full collective. However, this morning, it looked like everyone was awake and enjoying an absolutely monstrous stack of waffles in the dining room. Everyone except the source of your problems, anyway. _Well_ , you thought, _might as well grab something to eat while I’m here_. You wandered over, taking your usual seat to the left of the head of the table, between Lucifer and Mammon. 

“Good morning, MC,” Lucifer managed to mumble out, though he didn’t look at you. His eyes were focused intently into the mug of coffee he clutched like a lifeline. You hadn’t seen much of him over the past week. His normally (annoyingly) flawless appearance was made more human by the presence of a twin set of abnormally dark circles under his eyes and an unusually disheveled mess of black in place of his normally carefully-styled hair. 

“Morning,” you greeted in return, sure you didn’t look much better off, what with the lack of quality sleep. “Been busy?”

“Always,” he muttered. He finally looked up and met your gaze, eyes widening only a little at your own sleepless chic look. “What happened to you?”

You didn’t even have a chance to formulate a response to that before the brothers farther down the table pitched in. All at once, five voices tried to simultaneously explain that Belphegor had been a bit of a dick lately. That should have been predictable, though you were oddly touched by how concerned about you they all seemed to be. That was, at least until they each started sharing the stories of their various efforts to talk it out in your honor, and hey, wait, you definitely did not ask any of them to do that.

“Hey, wait, I definitely did not ask any of you to do that,” you said.

“Well, of course ya didn’t, but we care about ya and you’ve looked like a puppy someone kicked for a week and we were sick of it! You were bringin’ down the energy or whatever,” responded Mammon, looking very unwilling to admit that he cared. Classic Mammon. Heartwarming, or at least it would have been if you weren’t kind of upset by this revelation.

“Are you serious? You should have asked me first! I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to him for the past WEEK and now I get why he won’t even answer my texts! He thinks I’m trying to use you, _all_ of you, against him,” you exclaimed. No one had much of a response to that, which was probably a good thing, because if they had, you would probably have gotten a little upset. (Okay, a lot. Very. Exceedingly upset. You couldn’t believe they’d gone behind your back.) You turned to Lucifer, just for the fuck of it. “Any advice, oh great leader?”

“He isn’t going to give you an opportunity to talk to him. You know how he is. You’re just going to have to corner him. Otherwise, he will absolutely hold whatever grudge he has against you until you do. I would know,” he grunted. That was true. He did know. You had maybe secretly deep-down hoped that he would offer to complete the series of Demons With Good Intentions Trying To Convince Belphegor You Aren’t A Total Piece Of Shit, Which Is Something He Did Not Think Until Recently, but probably should have known that he was also probably the busiest demon in existence and therefore had far more important matters to worry about than the fact that one of his brothers was having a disagreement with a human. You couldn’t be too mad, though; he had given you the best (or, well, only) advice as to how to deal with Belphie of any of them.

Not that you wanted to deal with Belphie the way Lucifer suggested at all. The idea of storming up to him and making him talk to you made Kill Bill sirens go off in your head. The fight or flight response was definitely reading flight, but unlike half of your demon boys, you didn’t have wings, which is the logic you used to convince yourself to just suck it up and find him. 

Your first thought was the twins’ room, but a quick glance inside showed no signs of sleepy cow demons, so you moved on towards the attic. You knew, thanks to breakfast, that he had been staying in his former prison for the past week, so it seemed like a decent place to check. Signs of life were definitely to be found - empty chip bags on the floor, a few crushed soda cans, a graphic novel on the floor opened about halfway through. That said, the only living thing in the attic other than yourself was a very small spider you saw building a web close to the ceiling in one of the corners. Last on your list of possible Belphie hideouts was the planetarium, where the seventh-born would often come to gaze at stars until falling asleep. Three strikes, and you were out. Belphegor was not there. You thought about using your pact to summon him, but you knew that if he was really mad enough at you to go to all this trouble, using magic to teleport him directly to you would _not_ help your case. 

Well, shit.

That was six days ago. You are now a full and complete two weeks into this garbage pile, and suffice it to say, you’re unhappy. The anxiety of confrontation has evaporated under the heat of straight-up anger. Who does he think he is? Just ditching you? Acting like you don’t exist every time you manage to cross paths? It’s old. You’ve had enough. You’ve tried calling out to him when you see him, and he simply pretends he does not hear it. He’s stopped coming to dinner altogether, though Beel insists that he makes his twin a plate so Belphie doesn’t starve. You don’t care. You want this over with. So, against your better judgement, you stand in the center of the attic, rub your hands together, and recite your incantation.

“Huh?” is all Belphie manages to get out before he smacks the floor with a loud thud. He groans as he sits up, rubbing his head. “What the f- oh. You.” He looks displeased. You want to slap him harder than he slapped the floor. You take a moment to compose yourself.

“Yeah. Me. What’s your deal?” you bite.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, no, Belphegor, I am sick and fucking tired of this little aloof thing you’ve been pulling for the last two weeks. You’re gonna tell me what the fucking problem is, and we are going to fix it like the rational adults we are,” you say. It was a snarl in your mind, but you can tell by the look of intimidation that flickers across Belphie’s gaze that it probably came out unsettlingly calm. You grab him by the horseshoe on his jacket and yank him to you before he can fight it. “I’m waiting!”

“You really don’t get it, huh? You should know what you did wrong. Sending all my brothers to make me just forget about everything last week was a stupid idea,” he tells you with narrowed eyes.

“I didn’t ask them to do that!” you exclaim. “I didn’t even _know_ about it until Sunday! And they only tried because you won’t _talk_ to anyone! I genuinely do not know what I did wrong. What did I do, Belphie? Huh? Because I guess I’m just a stupid human and you’re gonna have to spell it out for me, Mr. Big Demon Brain!” He actually pauses at that. Well, he pauses at the first part. The last bit almost loses him.

“You… they did that themselves?” he asks. The look you give him tells him, _yes, dickwad, they made that decision_. He sighs. “You really don’t know what you did?”

“OBVIOUSLY!” you almost shout. “Why the _fuck_ would I let this weird feud with us continue if I knew how to stop it? You’re my best fucking friend down here. I care about you and your feelings _so deeply_ that I’ve felt like absolute _dog shit_ for the past two weeks straight, knowing that I did something that upset you like this!” You’re about four inches from his face now, so he can’t hide the blush that turns him beet-red as you finish your outburst.

“itolyoucosemeinmydreanyoudnt,” he mumbles. 

“Enunciate. I should be able to understand you when I’m this close to your dumb face,” you huff.

“I told you to come see me in my dream and you didn’t! And I told you I would be mad if you didn’t. I warned you,” he says, eyes shifted down. You release his jacket as you realize that he’s being completely honest.

“What.” It comes out more as a statement than a question. Belphie intentionally does not look up at you, though you see the blush somehow deepen across his cheeks. You can’t help it.

_SLAP!_

“Ow! What the fuck!?” Belphie exclaims. You know your hand probably hurts more than the side of his head, and that _ow_ was reflexive, but that was a backhand he definitely deserved and any reaction is good enough.

“YOU SHUT ME OUT FOR _TWO FULL WEEKS_ BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T _DREAM ABOUT ME_ !? I CAN’T CHOOSE WHETHER YOU DREAM OF ME, DUMBASS! YOU HAD ME STRESSING TO THE POINT OF LOSING SLEEP FOR _NOT BEING IN YOUR_ **_FUCKING DREAM_ **!?”

“I know! I know! I kind of… realized that was out of your control the third day in-”

“ARE YOU? SHITTING ME???-”

“- BUT then you told my brothers and they wouldn’t stop _bothering_ me-”

“- IS IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO KILL YOU? I AM CURRENTLY CONSIDERING IT-”

“- And I knew it was stupid and petty but it just made me angrier that you wouldn’t talk to me about it yourself! You know I hate when people try to stall instead of just asking for what they want, and you wanted to know what was wrong, and you wouldn’t even ask! So I just kept on doing it,” he explains. You definitely still want to throw him off a bridge. Instead, you opt for the next-best option. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze, as hard as your upper body strength allows, and bury your head in his stupid warm dumb idiot baby neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair.

“Sorry for what?” you mumble into his neck.

“Being petty,” he mumbles back.

“... Apology accepted. And I'm sorry for the backhand. But you owe me one,” you mumble in response. A lot of mumbling happening, but considering the fact that you just did a fair amount of yelling and your throat hurts, you suppose it can be excused.

“I guessed I would,” he says. You can hear that stupid little cute grin of his in the words. 

You stay like that for a while, just enjoying having your personal space heater back.

“Well,” you finally say, pulling back, “I guess we should let everyone know that they’re not allowed to hang you by the toes in the library.”

“Were they going to?”

“They would if I asked them.”

“... Yeah. Yeah, we would.”

**Author's Note:**

> if the timeline was at all confusing, [here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0ba0fa093b0e8b46a0e0725b6d27b865/d3b636aaf95dbb86-f0/s2048x3072/98e7c48209b6c1458f954a8a35cf13add45078e9.png) is a little visual guide i made in mspaint to help keep it separated!  
> can't get enough obey me brain rot? check out my om twitter for more B) [@diavolokissme](https://www.twitter.com/diavolokissme)


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